


Honest Worries

by honooko



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honooko/pseuds/honooko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Goku falls out of a tree. Sanzo is understandably concerned. Hakkai and Gojyo are somewhat helpful. Pre-journey, with pre-series flashback and current-series flash forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest Worries

Sanzo couldn’t remember a time when Goku had been sick. The boy was perpetually healthy, perpetually energetic, and perpetually robust. For over a year, Sanzo had assumed Goku simply couldn’t get sick; he hadn’t caught the flu that ran through the temple in the winter, or the particular aggressive stomach bug at midsummer, or even the occasional sniffles that appeared throughout the year. To be fair, Sanzo rarely caught them either, but Sanzo avoided interacting with people on a good day; if they were sick, he refused to even meet with them. 

But one fall day, Goku fell out of a tree.

Sanzo had been called for immediately—an acolyte burst into the room where he was reading and began shouting in honest alarm.

“Sanzo-sama!” he said, panting from exertion, “The boy—Goku—has been injured!”

He ran. They approached the giant persimmon tree that Goku was so fond of climbing; usually he would scramble all the way to the stop, stealing a few fruits along the way, then stare out across the view. It was an enormous tree, and even as Sanzo was kicking himself for never having considered it to be dangerous, he conceded with himself that instructing Goku to stay away from it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. When they arrived, there was a cluster of monks around the base. They were murmuring to themselves and wearing concerned expressions, but none of them had reached out to help the small boy. Gritting his teeth to avoid snapping at them, Sanzo satisfied himself with a burning glare at anyone that had the nerve to meet his eyes. They parted like water in front of him, revealing Goku curled in a ball at the base of the trunk. He wasn’t moving, and for one terrifying second, Sanzo’s heart stopped.

He knelt in the dirt, caring nothing for his robes. He could see the golden diadem still in place, a small blessing. Carefully, he put a hand on Goku’s shoulder. Slowly extending himself, Goku loosened his body-curl enough to show his face: it was ashy underneath his tan, and he seemed to be shaking ever so slightly.

“Sanzo,” he said in a much softer voice than Sanzo had ever heard him use. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Sanzo asked, his own tone lacking the usual coldness.

“Sorry,” the boy repeated. “You were busy.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sanzo said. He turned a deadly scowl at the crowd of monks clustered around them. “None of these lazy idiots were going to help.”

“It’s not their fault,” Goku said, forcing a smile. It twisted at Sanzo; even after a fall, even after being injured and ignored, he was trying to be positive. He was trying to defend the people who’d left him like this. “S’bad luck, probably.”

“You’re not bad luck,” Sanzo corrected him. Changing the subject, he asked, “Where are you hurt?”

“Dunno,” Goku said, still forcing the smile. It was clearly a struggle. “Don’t feel good anywhere.”

“Does your neck or head hurt?” Sanzo asked. Goku moved his head to demonstrate its apparently lack of injury. “What about your arms and legs? All your toes and fingers still move?” Goku lifted a shaking foot. Sanzo could see his right ankle beginning to swell; he would have expected Goku to be showing more distress if it was broken, so he’d probably just sprained it. Sanzo lifted one of Goku’s hands, and it seemed to cause him no significant discomfort. There was something strange about Goku’s eyes; they were too bright, almost glassy. Sanzo put a hand on his forehead. He was burning up. Goku pressed his head into Sanzo’s palm with a little sound, his eyes closing.

“You’re sick,” Sanzo said, surprised. “Are you dizzy?”

“What’s dizzy?” Goku mumbled. Sanzo leaned down to scoop Goku up; he wasn’t heavy at all, despite being in a semi-constant state of eating and growing. Goku’s head fell against his shoulder with his nose tucked under Sanzo’s jaw. Sanzo could feel the heat coming off Goku through his shirt collar.

“You can’t stand properly,” Sanzo explained. “Your head feels like you’re spinning.”

“Dizzy,” Goku repeated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Once again, the monks cleared a silent path for Sanzo to carry Goku through. He paused just as they cleared the crowd. Without looking back, he shot an admonishment.

“According to you lot, all lives are sacred,” he said scornfully. “Whether they eat your stupid fruit or not.” He didn’t wait for excuses; he wanted to get Goku in a bed with some medicine immediately.

Goku was eerily quiet on the walk to their living quarters; Sanzo battled with an increasingly high level of irritation. 

“How long have you been dizzy?” Sanzo asked the boy. Goku made a grumbling sound; it took him much longer to answer than it should have.

“I dunno,” Goku supplied after a long period of silence. “Since this morning?” Sanzo still go the impression Goku was forcing himself and downplaying the situation.

“Are you smiling?” he asked, unable to look down with Goku’s nose buried under his chin.

“Mm.”

“Stop,” Sanzo instructed him. “You’re sick. You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Goku said with just a hint of a sad whine. Sanzo sighed. Before he could ask for clarification, Goku supplied, “You forget sometimes.”

“Forget what?”

“How to smile,” Goku explained. “I gotta show you, otherwise you forget.”

“’Have to’,” Sanzo corrected him after a moment. “Not ‘gotta’. ‘Have to.’”

“Hafta,” Goku parroted weakly. They got back to the little series of rooms that served them as a house—Sanzo took Goku straight to his bed. The boy usually slept on a pallet on the floor, having a history of both falling out of bed as he slept, and needing to sleep in the same room as Sanzo after a nightmare. He would drag his pallet into Sanzo’s room and put it at the foot of the bed, reassuring himself that Sanzo was still there. But if he was sick, Sanzo had no intention of letting him sleep on the ground, even with a fairly plush mattress. He settled Goku in the bed, tucking him under the blanket but leaving his foot exposed so he could attend to it. Goku arranged his other limbs clumsily, helping as much as he could and still smiling, however wobbly it was. 

When Sanzo stood to go track down some medicine and a bandage of some kind, Goku’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong considering how weak he seemed in everything else.

“Don’t go,” Goku said, sounding far more panicked that he usually did. “Sanzo, please don’t go.”

After the first time Goku’s diadem broke, Sanzo had learned to take Goku’s fear of him leaving quite seriously. Goku had made a lot of improvement in his ability to trust that Sanzo would come back; the fact that he now spent a lot of time on his own, climbing trees and generally playing instead of glued to Sanzo’s side spoke to a growing level of faith that separation was not a permanent thing. 

“I’m getting you some medicine. It’s in the other room. I’ll be right back,” Sanzo explained with far more patience than he usually had. He tried to pry Goku’s hand off his wrist and discovered that short of nearly breaking his fingers, the grip remained solid. Sitting on the side of the bed, he put his free hand over Goku’s eyes.

“Let go. Close your eyes and count to thirty,” he instructed Goku. “I’ll be back by the time you finish counting.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re not—“

“I will be back by the time you finish,” Sanzo repeated firmly. “Now let go.” Very reluctantly, Goku’s hand fell away. Sanzo stood, pleased to see Goku had indeed closed his eyes and started counting, mouthing the numbers silently. He went straight to the cabinet in the bathroom and took down the medicine that he generally took for headaches. It doubled as a fever reducer. He didn’t have much in the way of bandages, but there was a snug, stretchy sort of wrap. He took a quick detour to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and bring it with him, as well as wet a washcloth with more cold water. Balancing everything in his arms, he went back to Goku. 

Goku’s eyes were still closed, but his chest was rising and falling in a rhythm of sleep. Sanzo set the glass and medicine on the night table. He brushed Goku’s hair out of the way for him to put the cool washcloth on it—he was still hot, far too hot. The touch of cold was enough to pull Goku from his shallow sleep.

“Sanzo,” he said, lifting a hand. If he had anything more to say, it dried up. Sanzo frowned; with each passing second, as more of Goku’s happy face faded away, he looked sicker. Had this all happened in one day, or had the boy been hiding it for a few days longer? Why hadn’t Sanzo noticed?

Taking the medicine bottle and tapping out two tablets, he motioned for Goku to sit up. The boy struggled; Sanzo reached out to help him, lifting his shoulders. 

“Take these,” he said. Ever obedient, Goku opened his mouth; he swallowed the pills with the water Sanzo gave him, steadying the boy’s shaky grip on the glass. Laying him back down and adjusting the position of the washcloth, he watched Goku fall back into an uneasy sleep. He managed to wrap up the ankle he suspected was sprained and propped it up on a pillow. Carefully, so as not to disturb him with too much more motion, Sanzo settled himself nearby in a chair with the book he’d left on his nightstand that morning. Ideally, Goku would recover quickly. During all the settling, he’d been given no reason to think the boy was injured beyond being generally ill and sprained; none of his limbs seemed broken, and he was breathing with enough ease to assume his ribs were alright. He probably wasn’t terribly high up when he fell. If he was physically weak, he probably avoided going too high all together.

Glancing back at Goku (he was still so _small_ , damn it, why hadn’t he noticed?) Sanzo felt that it was a rather small comfort.

_Kouryuu, it’s alright to cry._

He had been nine years old. He didn’t particularly like taking part in the hand-to-hand combat exercises; why would he ever need them? He wasn’t keen on fighting anyone, and since he had no intention to be a monk, it felt like a waste of energy. But sometimes he felt like people were watching him—he could feel eyes following him around as he did his chores. They made him feel slightly sick, and after admitting it to Koumyou, his master had encouraged him to learn how to protect himself, just in case. He showed quite a lot of promise, so the age and strength of his sparring partners increased rapidly.

Then one day, he drove his knee into an older boy’s stomach and was rewarded by being brutally knocked to the ground and having his forearm stomped on. They’d pulled the out-of-control fighter away, but not before Kouryuu had curled around his broken arm in a ball, sweating and pale from the pain. Even once Koumyou came, Kouryuu kept his jaw clenched so tight that he half expected his teeth to break. When the doctor set the bone, Koumyou held his free hand in both of his, warm and comforting.

When the doctor left, a splint and bandage wrapped snugly around his arm, Koumyou put a hand on Kouryuu’s head.

“Kouryuu,” he said gently, “It’s alright to cry. Tears just mean you hurt, in your body or in your heart. Tears are honest; honesty isn’t weakness or shame.”

“Won’t you worry?” Kouryuu had mumbled.

“Oh, Kouryuu,” Koumyou said with a light laugh. “I’ll always worry. But I worry more if I think you aren’t being honest with me, you see?”

“It’s alright?” Kouryuu asked. “Really?”

“Of course.”

When Koumyou’s arms closed around him, Kouryuu buried his face in his master’s chest and let the tears fall. He didn’t how long he’d cried, but once he’d calmed down some, Koumyou let him lie down with his head pillowed on his master’s knee, that warm hand gently stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

Sanzo wasn’t Koumyou. But maybe he didn’t have to be.

 

~

_He was so cold. The snow had been falling again; days? Weeks? Months? Years? He didn’t know. He couldn’t count them, each season fading into the next without any sense of progression in time; they were just events, moments strung together in an endless series of empty time._

_Goku had pulled his hair around himself. It wasn’t warm—not even close—but he could almost pretend it was. It didn’t stop the shivering. It didn’t stop the ache in his bones. It didn’t stop the shackles on his limbs from almost burning him with cold._

_He looked out the bars and saw white. Blank, cold white. Nothing came here. Nothing lived her. Nothing happened here. It was just white, white that blocked out the blue sky with gray clouds. When the snow came, the days felt shorter. Even the sun had left him here alone._

_The sun. Konzen. Why did he always think of those two things together? Why were those the only two words that seemed to matter at all? Why did they feel like almost the same word, like he could switch one for the other and it wouldn’t change anything? Sun, Konzen, Konzen, Sun._

_The sun had left him. Kozen left him. If they were the same—every time the sun disappeared, Konzen did too. Alone, alone, alone. Goodbye SunKonzenSunKonzen. Cold. He was so cold. His head was heavy, like a weight he couldn’t lift. He laid on the floor. Come back. KonzenSun come back, come back, come back. So cold, alone, SunKonzen, coldcoldcold._

_Sanzo._

_KonzenSunSanzoSunSanzoKonzenSunSunSunSanzo. Alone. Cold. Sanzo. Sanzo. Sanzo!_

~

Sanzo wasn’t sure when he drifted off, but he was jerked awake by Goku thrashing in the bed. He was half-mumbling, half crying out. Most of it made no sense at all, but every so often he caught words: cold, alone, sun, Sanzo. ‘Konzen’ made something in his brain itch in a way he hated. He was already next to Goku, a hand on his shoulder, trying to wake him. Goku’s eyes flew open, but there was something disturbingly wrong about them; they weren’t slit like Seiten Taisei, but they were disconnected. Blind. His gaze skittered around as if he couldn’t take in anything he was seeing.

“Goku,” Sanzo said, trying to draw his attention. When he got no obvious reaction, he put his hand on Goku’s forehead. He felt _hotter_ than before. Was he hot enough to hallucinate? If he’d had a fever dream it wasn’t hard to figure out what it was about, since Goku only ever had nightmares about one thing: the mountain. 

“Goku,” Sanzo said, catching his chin and trying to make the boy look at him. Goku blinked, but his mumbling hadn’t stopped. His gaze remained unfocused and Sanzo knew he wasn’t hearing anything he was saying. Suddenly Goku’s hands shot up, reaching out. He nearly punched Sanzo in the face with the abrupt movement, and his mumbles began to sound more panicked.

“Sun, sun!” he whined. “Sanzo, Sanzo, where? Whywhywhy? Sanzo?” 

“I’m right here, monkey, look!” Sanzo said, his hold on Goku’s face still firm. It didn’t help. Goku couldn’t see him.

~

_Sanzo. Sanzo, sun, Sanzo. Sanzo had the warmest hand, and the bars crumbled away when he reached out. Goku forgot how to feel alive until that very second. That very moment, that very heartbeat, he remembered. He was alive. He was free._

_But now he was cold. Cold, alone, cold. So cold. Where was the warm sun? Where was warm Sanzo? Sanzo promised not to leave. He promised, he swore. Goku believed him, trusted him, but now everything was cold again and that meant the SunSanzo was gone. Gone gone gone._

_He wasn’t alive anymore. He was cold._

~

The situation was borderline dangerous. The more upset Goku got, the more the probability of a stress-induced limiter break increased. And with him mostly delirious, he might be even harder to get under control again. 

But that wasn’t even Sanzo’s main concern at this point. Goku was _seriously_ unwell, and he simply didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t recall ever having a fever like this in his own childhood—every illness he’d had had been nursed by Koumyou with his usual patience and reassuring presence. He’d felt safe, even when his body was making him utterly miserable. But aside from what he’d already done for Goku, he was out of ideas.

He called Hakkai. Sanzo told himself it was because an actual physician wouldn’t understand the stakes and circumstances as well as Hakkai, and that Goku would feel better being treated by someone he knew. In reality... no matter what had happened in the past, Sanzo had no hesitation in thinking of Hakkai as trustworthy. It never crossed his mind to doubt the “reformed criminal.”

“Hello?”

“Goku’s sick,” Sanzo said, getting straight to the point. “He’s got a fever and he’s delirious.”

“Delirious?” Hakkai repeated. “How badly? Is he confused, or—“

“I don’t think he’s even awake,” Sanzo said. “He doesn’t see me. He isn’t responding to anything.”

“How long has it been like this?” Hakkai asked. Sanzo could hear the clattering of dishes being put in a sink; Hakkai was getting ready to leave.

“Delirious, or sick?”

“Both.”

“Sick, not sure. A day or two. He was hiding it. The fever kicked up a couple of hours ago. He fell out a tree and fucked up his ankle, then this started.”

“Sanzo, a real doctor might be—“

“He keeps saying I’m gone. He thinks I’ve abandoned him. Last time that happened, his limiter broke,” Sanzo said seriously.

“A real doctor won’t understand the risk,” Hakkai sighed into the phone. “I understand. I’ll be there shortly. Do whatever you can to keep him cool and calm until then.” Sanzo hung up without answering. He went back to where Goku was moving restlessly; he re-wet the washcloth and attempted to keep it on Goku’s forehead even as he thrashed, but it was increasingly difficult.

“Sanzo,” he was whimpering. “Sanzo!” It sent a stab of guilt through Sanzo, one that was nearly stronger than his concern that the limiter would fail.

He remembered Koumyou’s warm, gentle hand on his hair.

It took some maneuvering, but he lifted Goku’s upper body high enough to slide in, with his back to the wall and perpendicular to Goku. He let Goku’s head rest in his lap, one hand holding the cold compress and the other stroking Goku’s head. He found himself speaking without really thinking about it.

“I don’t know what was going on in that empty head of yours when you decided not to say a damn word about feeling sick, but it was stupid. You’re supposed to tell me. I’m not psychic. Smiling when you don’t want to is as good as lying. Don’t lie to me.” Sanzo leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t ever lie to me.”

“Sanzo?” Goku said, blinking up at him blearily. “You really there?” Sanzo looked down; he sounded so tired and small. Sanzo continued stroking his hair. 

“Never left,” he said shortly. “Not going to leave either.”

“Promise?”

“How many times do I have to promise you before you believe me?” Sanzo told him with a hint of annoyance. But Goku was already starting to doze again, his eyelids heavy. Before they completely closed, he reached up one small hand. Sanzo leaned forward and Goku’s fingers brushed through Sanzo’s golden hair, his face blooming a small, real smile before his hand dropped and he fell asleep.

Sanzo heard Hakkai coming through the front door. He waited for Hakkai to find his way back rather than call out and risk waking Goku up again. When Hakkai finally stuck his head into the room, Sanzo was immediately annoyed to see Gojyo right behind him. His face must have given away his displeasure, because Gojyo silently held his hands up in surrender. Distracted, Sanzo’s hand had stopped moving; Goku murmured, and the soothing strokes began again. Sanzo glared at Hakkai and Gojyo, daring them to comment.

Instead, they both entered the room. Gojyo had a grocery bag that he unloaded on the side table: tea, soup, gel fever strips, painkillers, and plain crackers. He then pulled out a stronger kind of bandage and passed it over to Hakkai, who had wordlessly moved to Goku’s foot and begun to unwrap it. 

“Just a sprain,” he confirmed with a smile. “He should stay off it for couple of weeks, but knowing him, I think a week is the most we can hope for.”

“Yikes,” Gojyo said, risking a peek over Hakkai’s shoulder. “He twisted that pretty good.” There was a pause, then he added softly, “Nobody helped him, did they?”

Sanzo’s head jerked up; Gojyo’s expression was a mix of resignation and disgust.

“How did you know—“

“Kids get hurt,” he said shortly. “People look away all the fucking time. It’s easier to pretend they never saw it than do anything, especially if they don’t give a shit about the kid to start.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Hakkai interjected. “People may feel it’s not their place to intervene.”

“You really think that’s what happened here?” Gojyo asked. Sanzo tilted his head at them; there was something different about the way they talked to each other sometimes when they forgot other people were around. Hakkai was less softened, Gojyo was more grounded. The traits they both projected toned down or vanished entirely. Sanzo had no desire to investigate the implications of it, but he had long ago informed the three aspects that both of them were better people when they were together.

“Of course not,” Hakkai answered with a sigh. “Even if it was, apathy towards suffering is hardly an acceptable response. It’s just rather unfortunately commonplace.”

“People are shit,” Gojyo sighed. “Big surprise.”

Sanzo continued silently stroking Goku’s hair. He didn’t stir when Hakkai rewrapped his ankle, or when they switched the washcloth for a fever strip. Sanzo’s thumbed traced the edge of the limiter, remembering with stark clarity the expression on Seiten Taisei’s face as he wept under Sanzo’s palm.

_I thought you were leaving me behind again…_

Apathy. What a fucking waste.

“Sanzo, we’re going to have to wake him up so he can take the medicine,” Hakkai said regretfully. Sanzo scowled even as he removed his hand so he could help prop Goku up. 

“I already gave him some,” he said. Hakkai nodded.

“I know. This is stronger, but it should be fine to take in addition to what he’s already had.” The boy opened those two-bright eyes, his breathing picking up as he started to panic.

“Goku, it’s alright,” Hakkai said gently, “We’d just like you to—“

“Sanzo,” Goku gasped, jerking forwards. “Where’s—“

“Right here,” Sanzo said, causing Goku to whip his head around and look. He was still feverish and having trouble focusing, but at least he recognized Sanzo this time. “I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Goku calmed, his focus still firmly on Sanzo even as Hakkai put pills in his mouth and helped him hold the water glass to swallow. When Hakkai pulled the glass away, Goku’s drifting smile floated across his face. When he reached for Sanzo’s hair, once again Sanzo made no move to pull away. Whatever strange comfort Goku took from it, Sanzo saw no immediate reason to deny him. It was an odd, dazed gesture, his small fingers running through whatever hair he could reach, humming softly to himself. Sanzo couldn’t help but meet his gaze squarely; he was surprised to see the simple contentment in Goku’s eyes. 

~

Hakkai and Gojyo had fallen silent, watching the interaction play out. It was never in question that Sanzo did, on some level, care about Goku, but Gojyo was always somewhat taken aback when it became more overt. For all his irritable posturing, it was in these very rare, quiet moments when Gojyo felt like he was seeing a more genuine version of the monk. He’d questioned Goku’s affection and dedication to Sanzo more than once; he’d chalked it up to something like the way a duckling bonded to the first thing it saw when it hatched. Cute, if somewhat misplaced. But as Goku ran his fingers through Sanzo’s hair, Gojyo found himself looking away—it felt too much like invading a private moment.

Well, at least he could accept that Goku was actually exactly where he should be.

Hakkai stood, seemingly just as unable to continue to watch as Gojyo. His expression was that slightly wistful twist that Gojyo hated. It was the ‘memory’ face. He didn’t ask—he never asked. If Hakkai wanted to talk about it, he would. It didn’t mean Gojyo couldn’t try to redirect his thoughts. He jerked his head towards the kitchen; Hakkai nodded. They left Sanzo and Goku to their quiet interaction.

“I guess the monk does give a shit,” Gojyo said casually. “Kind of surprised.”

“Really?” Hakkai said, beginning to search through cupboards. “I thought it was rather obvious.”

“What are we looking for?” Gojyo asked, heading towards the cupboards too.

“A bowl and a spoon,” Hakkai said. “He spends a lot of time alone with Goku. That speaks for itself in my mind.”

“I thought that’s ‘cause the little monkey is glued to him. And he doesn’t really have any friends,” Gojyo said, checking the one over the small stove.

“If he wanted to, Sanzo could have passed Goku’s day-to-day care to someone else. Or found an acolyte to play with him,” Hakkai pointed out. “Instead, they sit together while Sanzo reads the newspaper and Goku eats his homework.”

“I thought you switched to wax fruit.”

“I did. He finished one and a half apples before he noticed, though.”

“So what, Sanzo likes the kid?” Gojyo said. “I mean. Even after… that, it’s a hard sell.” Hakkai turned around, a bowl in one hand. He tilted his head at Gojyo and smiled that soft, half-lidded smile that always made Gojyo feel like he was being rewarded for something. 

“Why did you pick me off the road?” Hakkai asked him, as if he hadn’t asked the question practically a hundred times before. 

“Fuck if I know,” Gojyo said. “You just looked like you weren’t ready to be dead yet.”

“And after—why didn’t you make me leave?”

“Uh,” Gojyo said, suddenly feeling slightly pinned under Hakkai’s unrelenting green stare. “Well, you weren’t a half-bad roommate. I mean, shit, you cook. Like, real food. Hard to find a roommate that does that these days.”

“I think maybe it was more than that,” Hakkai said, turning back to the kitchen, presumably seeking a spoon. “Perhaps, on some level, you knew that I needed you. And you, in turn, liked being needed.”

Gojyo had no immediate response to that assessment, largely because it felt entirely too accurate. Instead, he deflected.

“So the monk wants Goku to need him?”

“I doubt it’s a conscious thing,” Hakkai said, shaking his head. “In fact, consciously he probably wants exactly the opposite. But you have to admit; after years of being alone, he finds someone who needs him—someone who cares about him, however loathe he may be to admit that.”

“That… sounds nice, I guess,” Gojyo conceded. “What’s the kid get out of it?”

“Weren’t you watching?” Hakkai said, pulling open a drawer full of utensils. “He gets Sanzo.”

Gojyo wasn’t sure it was a good deal, but he supposed it wasn’t his place to say what Goku did or didn’t like about the prickly asshole.

~

Gold. It really was golden, not blond. Goku’s fingers loved the feeling of it, so soft and light, and glowing in the sun. Made of the sun, it looked like. As long as he could keep just this, just this silk running across his hand, he knew Sanzo was still there. Even if his vision was blurry and his head was aching, Sanzo’s voice wasn’t just in his mind, it was _real_.

“Sanzo?” he murmured. He didn’t think he was dreaming. He was still kind of cold, but it wasn’t the bone-deep ache he remembered from the mountain.

“Right here,” Sanzo said. His voice always drew a smile from Goku, no matter what the circumstances. It was something about the way he said it: it sounded like he didn’t just mean it now, he meant it forever. He sounded like he was always going to be right where Goku’s fingers could reach him.

“Why’s everything fuzzy?” Goku asked, admiring the glint of light off of the lock of hair between his fingers.

“Because you’re sick,” Sanzo said. “You didn’t tell me, then you fell out of a tree.”

“The big one,” Goku said.

“The big one, yes,” Sanzo confirmed with a sigh.

“S’okay,” he mumbled. “Didn’t hurt.”

“You sprained your ankle, idiot,” Sanzo said. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt.” Goku started to smile, but Sanzo poked him in the cheek with a finger. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Smiling.”

“But—“

“Stop it,” Sanzo said firmly. “Be honest with me.” 

Goku blinked at him, letting his mouth fall slack. When his attention was directed to it, it _did_ hurt; his ankle throbbed viciously in time with his head. His joints felt sore like he’d been pulled on. He was still cold. Goku felt an embarrassing, hot welling of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Cry,” Sanzo said. “People will worry if you don’t.”

“Don’t worry!” Goku said immediately, even as the tears had begun to fall. “Sanzo, don’t—“

“If you don’t want me to worry, don’t do this again,” Sanzo instructed him firmly. “If you’re sick, you tell me. None of this falling-from-trees bullshit, do you understand?”

Goku nodded, his hand dropping away from Sanzo’s sun-gold hair. He felt a warm, gentle hand on his own head, stroking softly. It felt nice. Even as he sniffled around tears, the touch never hesitated. Slowly, he felt a wave of sleepy calm settling over him.

“M’sleepy,” he barely managed to mumble.

“Sleep then,” Sanzo said. Before Goku could even ask, he added, “I’ll be right here.”

Goku closed his eyes, concentrating on the rhythm of Sanzo’s hand on his hair.

~

Hakkai and Gojyo stayed the night, alternating between sleeping and playing cards in Goku’s room. Sanzo stayed where he was, back against the wall with Goku’s head in his lap. He told himself it was for Goku’s sake, but an annoyingly worried voice in his head insisted on keeping constant watch over the boy to reassure himself more than anything else. There were times when he would doze off, stirred awake when Goku shifted in his sleep, but for the most part he stared out the window, watching the stars pass by and the moon rise and fall. By the time the sun was bleeding warm, orange light from the horizon, Sanzo was completely awake. 

Goku’s golden eyes reflected the light as they opened, each pinkish, yellowish tint heightening the depth of gold. 

“Sanzo?” he said, sounding much less confused and dazed than before. “S’morning?”

“Yes,” Sanzo said. He peeled the gel strip off of Goku’s forehead and felt it with his palm. It was still a touch warm, but a hundred times cooler than it had been. Something that had wound tight in him loosened as he realized that Goku would be okay. He’d expected it, but he hadn’t believed it until now. He reached for the water glass on the end table and brought it to Goku’s mouth. He propped him up and Goku reached out eagerly, gulping it down so quickly that Sanzo pulled it away from him.

“Wait—“

“Slowly. You’ll make yourself sick if you drink it too fast,” Sanzo said, bringing the glass back. Obediently, Goku drank more slowly. He finished the glass and laid back, staring up at Sanzo with a warm and pleased smile on his face. Sanzo looked at him and frowned.

“What are you so happy about?” he said, annoyed.

“It’s nice,” Goku said.

“What is?”

“This,” Goku said. “It’s nice, Sanzo.”

“If you’re going to be stupid, I’m leaving,” Sanzo warned him. Goku immediately looked heartbroken, and against his better judgment, Sanzo stayed where he was. Without even thinking, his hand returned to Goku’s hair, returning to the same soothing strokes he’d ceased. Goku closed his eyes and turned his head just the smallest fraction closer to Sanzo’s hand, his smile drifting back as he was lulled back to sleep.

They stayed that way until Hakkai and Gojyo rose to check on them a few hours later.

~

Goku could tell something was wrong, but he had no idea whether anyone else did, or if he should tell them. Sanzo was quiet, and despite the relatively warm day, he was slumped down into Jeep’s seat with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. The last band of crazed youkai had come and gone without him ever firing a single shot, and not for lack of opportunity. He’d half-squinted an eye as he drew, refusing to pull the trigger.

It was weird.

When they pulled up to the hotel, Goku drifted to Sanzo’s side a little more quickly than usual. It was a good thing he had, because Sanzo stumbled when getting out of the car; Goku caught him by the elbow, holding him up easily. When Sanzo neglected to shake him off, he felt his stomach plummet. Sanzo _always_ shook off help. 

Sanzo looked him dead in the eyes, violet to gold, and spoke just loud enough to only be heard by them.

“Not a word,” he said, clenching his jaw as soon as the words left his mouth. He was almost leaning against Goku, feet slightly clumsy as he stood. Wordlessly, Goku continued to hold Sanzo’s elbow in support, but managed to hide his hold behind Sanzo’s sleeve when Sanzo crossed his arms again. He didn’t let go when they checked in, or climbed the stairs, or entered the room they would share—not until the door was closed, at which point he rather firmly steered Sanzo to a bed and released him. 

“What’s going on?” Goku demanded, keeping his voice low. Just because Hakkai and Gojyo were in another room didn’t mean they wouldn’t hear anything through the thin walls.

“Nothing,” Sanzo said with a stubborn clench of his jaw. Goku stood in front of him, silent and resolute. Sanzo stared back, turning it into a challenge of who would crack first. Somewhat unexpectedly, after several dead silent minutes, Sanzo turned away, reaching into his sleeve for his cigarettes.

“Sanzo,” Goku repeated. “What’s going on?”

“Sit down,” Sanzo said. It wasn’t an answer, but he sounded unusually tired, so Goku planted himself on his own bed without looking away. Sanzo’s moods could be unpredictable, but the fewer people were present, the calmer he generally was. Goku had some room to prod if it was just the two of them. He opened his mouth, but Sanzo cut him off.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Don’t worry about it.” Something in Goku twisted, just for a moment, just long enough to hurt him deep down in the part of his heart that he kept Sanzo in. After all these years—after all these adventures and journeys and fights, Sanzo was still doing this.

“Stop,” Goku said, voice cracking slightly. “Why won’t you just be honest with me?”

Sanzo froze in the motion of bringing the cigarette to his mouth. He turned, looking at Goku with those piercing violet eyes.

“What did you say?”

“Be honest. If you don’t want me to worry, then don’t—don’t pretend everything is fine. It’s not, I know,” Goku said. He felt the words on his tongue like he’d heard them somewhere before, or thought them before, or felt them before. They felt familiar. They felt right. “I don’t know why you want to lie to me, but don’t. Be honest.”

For a moment, one that seemed to stretch for eternity, Goku wondered if he’d gone too far. But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, the result was the same: he would have said this no matter what. He would have meant it, too.

“...Of course you know,” Sanzo said at last. He put his cigarette down in the ashtray and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked, to Goku’s eyes, _tired_ in a way that he didn’t frequently seem. “Are you ever looking at anything else but me?”

“Sometimes I look at the trees,” Goku said, “but they’re really boring.”

“And I’m not?”

“Never,” Goku said with a grin. Sanzo attempted to glare at him and only managed a withering kind of expression that communicated displeasure without the usual undertone of danger. It turned into a sigh, one that pushed his shoulders down in a droop with the weight of it.

“Fine,” he said with a slight snap, “I’m sick or some shit. A fucking fever. Happy?”

“ _Just_ a fever?” Goku pressed. “Really?”

“Yes, just a fever!” Sanzo answered. “I’m not coughing or sneezing, am I?”

Goku stood up and went to the door without a word. Before Sanzo could stop him, Goku trotted down the stairs to the front desk. He leaned on it with both elbows and a warm smile for the benefit of the clerk.

“Hey, do you guys have a first aid kit or something?” he asked. “My friend’s got a fever and I think we’re out of stuff.”

“We’ve got some basic things,” the clerk said. “Let me check, just a moment please.” It took him barely ten minutes to return, and when he did, he brought more than pills. He was carrying a tray with two white pills, a cup of hot tea, and a little bit of thin broth. Tossed across one arm was an extra blanket.

“This should help,” the clerk said. “Let me know if you need anything else; the chemist in town doesn’t open until ten o’clock tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Goku said sincerely. “This will help a lot!” Accepting the items, Goku carefully brought it all upstairs. It took quite a bit of effort to balance the tray in such a way that he could open the door; he was greeted by Sanzo’s back as he lay on the bed facing the wall. Judging by the rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to have fallen asleep. Goku was glad to see the cigarette snuffed out properly in the ashtray. He put the tray down on the nightstand with a soft thunk. 

“Sanzo,” he said, pushing at Sanzo’s shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”

“M’not asleep, idiot,” Sanzo informed him, sitting up. He took one look at the tray and shot Goku a look that was an even mixture of annoyance and alarm. “The fuck is that?”

“Medicine, tea, soup,” Goku recited, pointing at each item.

“Are you trying to take care of me?” Sanzo said suspiciously. “Because if you are, save it for—“

“Take the medicine, Sanzo,” Goku interrupted, holding out the pills and the tea. He was pleased to see that for once, Sanzo listened to _him_ and swallowed the medicine with a gulp of tea. He let Goku pass him the bowl of broth, drinking it in silence and without protest. When the small bowl was empty, Goku put it back on the nightstand and stood up.

Sanzo looked up at him, but for once his expression was hard for Goku to really parse.

“Go to sleep, Goku,” Sanzo said at last. He lay down, kicking the blanket he was sitting on out from under himself so he could pull it over, and faced the wall. When it seemed like he had mostly settled, Goku shook out the extra blanket and tossed it over Sanzo. Then he turned his back and returned to his own bed, figuring he was probably dodging another annoyed look. As a result, he missed the look he actually got: something edging along the side of gratitude.

“Goodnight Sanzo,” Goku mumbled out of habit, feeling sleep pulling at him almost immediately.

After several minutes, when it was clear that Goku was truly asleep, Sanzo spoke into the darkness.

“’Be honest,’ hmm?” he said. “At least something penetrated that skull of yours.” As the medicine kicked in and the hot tea and soup settled, Sanzo drifted off. In the corner of his eye, he almost thought he saw something, lit by the moon in the crack of the curtains, almost a smile, almost a warm hand, almost...

_Oh, Kouryuu. I’ll always worry._

**Author's Note:**

> Koumyou-papa is my favorite. ;~; Also, you've got to love Saiyuki's trademark anachronistic medical system. If you've never seen the little fever gel-strips described, Asia loves them. Imagine slightly sticky cool menthol gel on a felt pad that you just stick on your forehead. Feels nice, and entertaining to poke as you lie there suffering. :Db


End file.
